


Silver & Golden

by silverstrands



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forced Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29804907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstrands/pseuds/silverstrands
Summary: Hermione Granger has Draco Malfoy figured out. She doesn't believe his carefully created façade of redemption and atonement that has the rest of the Wizarding society bewitched. After one reckless night ends up in her becoming the new Mrs. Malfoy, she's forced to reconsider everything she thought she knew about the enigmatic man who guards his secrets like a dragon guards its treasure.Weekly Updates.Please mind the tags.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 36
Kudos: 205





	1. Lime Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Rec: Guest Room - Echoes. 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/1evVSrPwMFcdOyL804jlsL?si=e0572a94cfe84e28

When it rains, it pours.

Hermione should have been aware that things almost always never go the way she plans them to, what with all she’d been through in her teenage years. She’d finally started to believe that the post-war life she had carved out for herself might be different. A nice boyfriend, even nicer friends and a job at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures straight out of Hogwarts.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years now. And it had. Her long-time boyfriend and life-long friend had broken up with her in a spectacularly humiliating and public manner. Ron’s tongue down Astoria Greengrass’s throat at a ministry gala last weekend celebrating the expansion of the DRCMC - Hermione’s department! - had been plastered over the gossip pages of all newspapers and society magazines. She’d thought nothing could be worse than enduring the pitying glances and whispered words wherever she went. Silly her, she thought public humiliation, her boyfriend’s betrayal and everyone being privy to her carefully constructed life imploding in her face would be all she would have to go through. 

Of course not.

Hermione glared at two matronly witches whispering behind their hands as they surreptitiously eyed her. When they noticed her scowl they scampered down the corridor, their old-fashioned robes swishing behind them. It had been close to two months and it seemed like Britain’s wizarding society was still not over the entertainment Hermione’s situation provided them. 

She wondered what they would think if they knew what she had learned from Healer Abbott five minutes ago while expecting nothing more than a diagnosis of the common stomach bug. If they could only read the rolled up scroll she was gripping so tightly her knuckles had turned white. 

This was different than the other hundred problems currently plaguing her. This was personal. Something that all the others witches and wizards, healers and staff currently milling about all around her in the lobby of St Mungo’s second floor would not have dared to imagine could happen to Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age, one-third of the Golden Trio, about to become head of Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, essentially the most driven and ambitious witch in all of Britain. 

No, nobody would imagine that she was capable of jeopardising her entire career and future goals in such a clichéd manner, all by herself. 

Wait, that wasn’t true. She scowled as memories of gossamer soft hair beneath her fingers, an icy grey gaze trained on her lips and a chiseled pale torso languidly moving above her assaulted her mind, crumbling her resolve to not think about a certain platinum blond who had tipped Hermione’s world on its axis that fateful night.

 _In more ways than one_ , she thought as blood rushed to her cheeks.

Not wanting to spend one minute more in the place which had delivered the news of her doom, she steadily moved towards the fire-places lined for floo-travel from St. Mungo’s, dreading going back to her corner office at the Ministry.

How was she supposed to meet the eyes of all her colleagues and friends knowing what she knew? How was she supposed to carry on like nothing had changed when her whole life had?

Green flames died down behind her as she stepped into the Ministry’s main atrium, keeping her head down and hoping no one would stop her. Quickly snagging a relatively empty lift, she almost breathed a sigh of relief as she arrived at the fourth floor without incident.

She just needed time to herself. Time to regroup and compartmentalise her thoughts, come up with the best solution to this new problem which eclipsed everything that had transpired with Ron a few months back.

With renewed resolve she stepped out of the lift and looked up.

Her heart seized in her chest, missing a very telling beat at the sight of the tall, platinum blond wizard silently nodding at whatever her mentor and DRCMC head Helena Hornby was enthusiastically gesticulating about.

His face was blank and impassive and if she didn’t know better she’d think he wasn’t paying a lick of attention to whatever Hornby was so excited about. But she knew better.

Nothing slipped his notice. He was the bane of the senior members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot. She’d seen him throw their own words - said during tipsy socialising at various Ministry events - back at their faces with a barely suppressed air of haughtiness at various meetings and conferences where he lobbied for the Malfoy Estate and Holdings. He was a clever conversationalist. If he was listening to someone speak with a vacant expression, he was either cataloguing every word to memory or they were boring him to death. There was really no way to tell.

Hermione almost stumbled as she hurriedly hid behind a potted Flutterby Bush beside the lifts. Fortunately, it wasn’t in bloom, she didn’t need her newly sensitive nose assaulted with heady scents, no matter how pleasant.

She held her breath as Malfoy’s head briefly turned in her general direction as the plant shook and quivered at Hermione’s close proximity. Hornby clutched his forearm to get his attention back. 

Malfoy stiffened and deftly shook off the tall woman’s hand with pursed lips. Hermione almost sniggered as he tried to suppress his annoyance. She would have rolled her eyes, but she had become entirely too familiar with the peacock dancing and preening many witches (and some wizards) attempted in Malfoy’s presence, trying to get his attention or start awkward conversation that always led to them asking him out and him turning them down.

Her mouth twisted in a grimace. Her Department head was no exception to the charm of the deceptively pleasant and attractive persona her school bully now went about wearing. After the war, he had turned his public image around 180 degrees and many contributed it to his parents looming influence and legacy no longer shadowing him. Lucius Malfoy was serving life in Azkaban and Narcissa Malfoy had decided to shift to the Malfoy estate in France to get away from the shunning glances and vitriolic words of the rest of the Wizarding society.

Everyone had thought that the Malfoy heir would follow after his mother, but he hadn’t. He had defied everyone’s expectations with his actions.

Thoughts of Malfoy’s miraculous redemption fled her mind as she noticed a branch of the Flutterby nearing her stealthily. She shuffled back, inwardly cursing whoever thought putting a pot of the most unsuitable plant in the Ministry’s cold interiors would be a good idea.

Fortunately, it looked like Malfoy had finally had enough of whatever Hornby was talking about as he started to turn towards the row of lifts, probably making some excuse to leave. Hermione couldn’t hear much from her crouched position.

Let it be said that Hermione was afraid of no-one, she just did not want to deal with what she had learned that morning without forming a plan of action first.

She felt a slight tickle under her nose and she hastily slapped at the branch which had sneaked under face, but not before her nose twitched and a loud sneeze resounded throughout the lobby. She froze, her hands snapping up to cover her mouth.

She looked up, her eyes widening

Malfoy was watching her with bemusement, his head tilted to the side. “What are you doing Granger?”

Hermione scrambled to stand up with as much dignity she could muster after getting caught hiding behind a plant. She brushed off her sensible black skirt, her nose rising in the air as if nothing out of ordinary had happened.

She sniffed. “I was just checking if the Flutterby was in bloom.”

“Right," drawled Malfoy, eyes glinting with amusement as he watched her stiffly walk towards Hornby. Her department head gave her a confused look.

“You were eavesdropping. Clearly something you’re not good at.” His tone turned mocking. “Who would’ve thought.” 

Hermione whirled around to glare at him. “I wasn’t—“

Her words died in her throat. Malfoy was eyeing the scroll of parchment in her right hand which she hadn’t even realised she was crumpling under her tight grip.

The scroll bound by a lime green ribbon signature of all paperwork from St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

Hermione reflexively moved both her hands behind her back, her left hand clutching her right wrist in her best appropriation of a casual stance.

He glanced up impassively, giving her a terse nod before striding towards an open lift, not waiting to hear whatever explanation she might have come up with for eavesdropping on him and Hornby.

“What was that all about?” Hornby muttered, frowning at Hermione.

Her mentor was a tall woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair and kind brown eyes. Hermione liked her. Most of the time.

She shrugged, changing the subject smoothly. “What were you and Malfoy discussing? Anything important that I need to know about?”

Hornby smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I was just reminding him about the meeting scheduled before lunch today. His presence at a HEPA meeting is going to send a strong message to all the other departments. They’re gonna take our draft legislation seriously or risk getting on Malfoy’s bad side.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched as Hornby talked about her most ambitious project as some sort of joke which could only be legitimised through a rich lobbyist’s sponsorship. House Elves (Protection and Advocacy) Billor HEPA for short was the defining idea of Hermione’s short career, conceived when she was just a school girl shaking donation boxes under other students’ noses for S.P.E.W. After five years working at the ministry, her idea for Elfish reform was finally getting somewhere.

“Why do we need his sponsorship again?” she asked curtly. “It’s not like the bill is envisaging House Elf freedom. It’s simply outlawing Elf abuse and allowing them a chance to be represented by the ministry in legal disputes.”

Hornby gave her that patient look which always gave Hermione the impression that even though her mentor clearly admired her intellect, she thought Hermione was still a little wet behind the ears.

Usually Hermione didn’t mind it, always eager to learn more about the psyche of the upper echelons of the Wizarding society, but in this context, where her school nemesis was involved, it rankled.

“We are essentially asking for house elves to be categorised as legal entities capable of taking their masters to the Wizengamot through a Ministry representative in extreme cases. That is bound to cause an uproar, Ms. Granger.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “Never mind the fact that we have had to limit this option to a few exceptional situations and House Elves are not likely to come forward and demand justice anyway, most witches and wizards will not see eye to eye with the DRCMC on this.”

Hermione sighed, reminded of the uphill battle in front of her. She had gotten a bit distracted with the recent developments in her personal life. Her desk was piling up with statistical reports and legal research she had to review and proposals she had to draft for the exact purpose of making witches and wizards see eye to eye with them on this bill.

Hornby continued. “Wealth matters, Ms. Granger. No matter how much we want the system to work purely on the basis of good morals and righteousness, if people don’t see their own advantage in these kind of things, they don’t care much for it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And that’s where Malfoy comes in.”

They were familiar enough with each other that Hornby didn’t mind Hermione’s cheek. “He has the galleons.” She shrugged, folding her arms. “And the connections.”

Hermione scowled. “That itself is a travesty.” She shuffled her medical report from one hand to the other. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you at the meeting before lunch.”

With a nod of farewell, Hermione entered the archway that led to her department. The main hall contained the small cubicles for entry level workers and beyond that a series of equally sized boxed walls comprised the individual offices.

Hermione dodged interdepartmental memos as she made her way to the one north-east corner of the building. She loved her office. She only had one office neighbour directly to her left. An aged man who worked for the Office of Misinformation. She’d learned that he was long past his retirement age but still refused to actually retire. Hermione appreciated his hard work, as well as his penchant for being quiet and un-obtrusive.

As soon as Hermione entered she set about making some tea to calm her stomach. Waving her wand to start on boiling some water in the kettle kept on the side table, she took out her favourite green tea and a chipped mug Ginny had gifted her for Christmas two years ago which she only ever took out of its hiding place in the drawer when she was alone. The mug was a rather unfortunate consequence of Ginny’s lewd sense of humour and her awareness of Hermione’s aversion to Quidditch.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the looping picture of a broomstick flying on the porcelain surface before the spell “Reducio!” flashes in bold black letters and the broomstick shrinks, flying straight beneath the long skirts of an unsuspecting witch who widens her eyes.

If anyone other than Ginny had given it to Hermione, she would have clobbered them over the head with it.

Tea in hand she sat down behind her desk with a sigh, going over thedisastrous morning in her head like a movie reel.

Waking up tired and annoyed after a day of meetings and draft revisions of HEPA while avoiding inquisitive glances and words in the cafeteria and the corridors, finding out that Witch Weekly had published another piece about her and Ron in their “Trouble in Paradise” section of their society pages. Which also happened to have a picture of Draco Malfoy leaving an Opera House in Paris with a long legged blonde on his arm.

That had been enough to put Hermione in a foul mood but then her stomach had decided to act up again for the fifth time that week and because her own remedies had failed her she’d finally scheduled an appointment at St Mungo’s.

Then everything had crashed and burned around her.

Hermione burned holes in the crumpled parchment on her desk with her eyes.

She was pregnant. And she knew for a fact that it wasn’t Ron’s child, not that would have been any consolation. Her relationship with her school friend was also currently on the way down the drain if she didn’t do anything about it soon.

Her priorities had shifted though, and as her mind so helpfully supplied the image of Malfoy’s cold eyes just a few minutes ago, she began to comprehend the daunting task ahead of her.

That night had meant nothing, just a way to get back at Ron for kissing the younger Greengrass girl in front of half the British wizarding society. Malfoy had been the only one who had followed her after she left the ballroom with deadened eyes and her cheeks on fire, Harry had pulled Ron away to no doubt give him a piece of his mind and Ginny hadn’t been in attendance that night. 

Afterwards she had wondered if Malfoy had only followed her because he didn’t trust her wandering by herself in his manor. He hadn’t been sympathetic or pitying when he found her in an empty study, just asked her if she’d like something stronger than the glass of champagne she’d been clutching in her hand. She’d agreed and as they shared a bottle of the finest firewhiskey in front of the fireplace in silence, something reckless took over her. She’d reached across the couch and grabbed his shirt to pull his mouth down to hers.

Later she’d convince herself that it had been the firewhiskey, but she knew better, she’d been entirely too sober when she kissed him. Too sober to blame it on anything else but her need to feel those full lips on hers, to run her fingers through silver strands that created a halo around his head in the moonlight filtering in from the tall window, and to finally satisfy a forbidden curiosity that she’d kept close to her heart since fourth year at Hogwarts. 

A curiosity that had strayed too far from innocent teenage musings over the years.

But the worst part was, even now that she was facing the consequences of acting on her forbidden desires, she knew that that one night had done nothing to douse the fire of the depraved thoughts that came to her deep in the night, when she was all alone.

No, that one night had only served to add fuel to the flame.

Putting her mug down with a thunk on the desk, she reached up to massage her temples as she felt the familiar pressure of a stress headache beginning to form.

When she had rejected Ron’s marriage proposal at their favourite restaurant close to three months ago, she hadn’t known that one refusal would snowball into events that would forever change her life. She berated herself for telling him no in front of the whole restaurant, she should have accepted and then gently let him down in private. Then Ron wouldn’t have felt vindictive enough to return the favour and she wouldn’t have ended up in Draco Malfoy’s arms of all people.

Then she wouldn’t be carrying the baby of her school bully. 

She didn’t know where it had all gone wrong. She vaguely remembered casting a contraceptive charm after they’d hurriedly divested their clothes just enough to allow him to thrust into her and erase all thoughts of precautions from her mind. Maybe she hadn’t been precise enough. Contraceptive charms weren’t always foolproof anyway. 

She’d been uncharacteristically careless and now she was paying the price.

A thought popped into her head, replacing despair with anger.

She wasn’t the only person responsible for this, Malfoy could also have been more careful that night.

He could have refused her advances.

For all that he went about displaying his superiority and for all his vows in school that she was filthy, he hadn’t objected once to sex with her. Where was all his pure-blood nonsense when it was needed. Short term embarrassment at his rejection would have been better than this.

Apart from her, Harry and Ron, everyone else believed that he had changed for the better. His countless charity drives, reparation efforts and ministry donations, as well as his tendency to be behind all the post-war reconstruction efforts as a sponsor aided that public perception. He made frequent appearances at society events and funnelled galleons where they were required in the Ministry to clear the negative reputation his father had acquired for the Malfoy name. 

She didn’t buy that he had genuinely changed. Even though she had testified for him, believing that he didn’t deserve an Azkaban sentence was different from believing that he would shed his blood supremacist prejudices that easily.

Malfoys gravitated towards power, they didn’t rest until they got what they wanted. She wouldn’t put it past him to adopt a pleasant, progressive veneer to do exactly that.

Hermione got up as her stomach twisted for the second time that day. She didn’t have any of the nausea calming potions listed in the parchment atop her desk so she settled for taking deep breaths till the sensation passed. 

No matter what she thought about Malfoy, she needed to tell him. Although her Gryffindor morals and passionate self-righteousness had evened out as she’d aged, she still had some tenets she stuck by. The thought of keeping the information that she was pregnant with his child from Malfoy didn’t sit right with her. No matter what she decided in the end, as the father he deserved to know about it. 

As she took another deep breath her resolve hardened. She would tell him. Today. After the meeting. She would ask him to lunch and she would tell him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: siIverstrands
> 
> Tumblr: silver-strands
> 
> Reviews keep me writing.


	2. Amber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Rec: Wish - Diplo, Trippie Redd
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/track/0HriJqzc3lu73JzL2pS1sD?si=1742abff29504405

Despite her nerves Hermione’s voice was smooth and unfaltering as she summed up her presentation of the draft legislation. Each department had sent a lower-level representative as this was one of the preliminary meetings before the draft could get sanctioned for the next stage of opening the bill to amendments. Hermione was used to the tedious task of navigating the Ministry’s bureaucratic red tape. She had long resigned herself to the uphill battle before her legislation could see the light of the day. 

“Our main focus here is to enforce the Guidelines on House-Elf Welfare which, despite their legal enactment, have not been taken seriously by the Ministry," Hermione finished, looking around the room of seated wizards and witches expectedly. “I’ll be taking questions now.”

Hermione suppressed a frown as Marcus Flint, now working for the Department of Magical Games and Sports, opened his mouth. “This little experiment is not going to work, Granger. House elves have always been loyal to those they serve. Those things are not going to come to the Ministry with their grievances just because the Golden Girl told them to.”

Titters sounded throughout the conference room, some seated hiding their mirth behind their palms at the jab, trying but failing to keep up their professional facade. 

Hermione clenched her jaw, flicking her eyes to Malfoy. Seated in the middle of the left side of the long table, he idly went through the physical copy of the draft, his eyes firmly on the parchment before him. For all intents and purposes giving the impression that he was not paying any mind to what was going on around him. 

Before Hermione could reply, a hook-nosed witch who worked for the Department of Magical Transportation spoke up with her two cents. “I agree with Flint. The reason why those guidelines have been difficult to impose in the first place is because house elves themselves will not co-operate with us.”

Murmurs of agreement went through the room. 

Hermione took a deep breath. “That is a very convenient argument wizards seem to employ whenever this issue is discussed. I think it is high time we admit that we get away with this excuse because it suits us. It excuses abuse and it excuses our culpability in it.”

She glanced at the unconvinced faces round her and felt indignation bubbling under her matter-of-fact exterior. They were not even actual Ministry representatives, just junior employees each Department had deemed free enough to attend DRCMC’s new campaign. They still did not take her seriously, even after all she’d done during the war, how much she had proved herself. The fact that there had to be an inter-departmental meeting over an issue that concerned only the DRCMC itself was enough to make her blood boil at the unjustness of it all. 

Her palms turned into fists as she started to re-explain why not abusing elves was the right thing to do. 

Suddenly, Malfoy sat back in his seat, abandoning his casual perusal of the draft to level a sardonic look at Flint. 

“I see your tendency to be near-sighted hasn’t improved much since Hogwarts, Flint. No wonder you ended up as a copy editor for the Sports Department of all places," he drawled. 

Another round of laughter sounded, this time much louder than before. Even Hornby, who usually was very serious during meetings, smiled at Malfoy. 

Hermione wiped her palms on her skirt, eyeing Malfoy with trepidation. She was well-acquainted with his brand of verbal sparring. The Flints had fallen on hard times since the war, so much so that Marcus had had to take up a Ministry position rather than languish in his family estate like heirs of most old families did. 

While Flint was at the meeting out of necessity of his employment, Malfoy chose to be there because the DRCMC needed him. 

This fact was lost on no one. 

Flint glared at Malfoy, but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

“House elves _are_ bound to the masters and families they serve,” Malfoy addressed everyone present, commanding their attention easily. “But they’re also clever, scrupulous beings who can figure out loopholes in their masters’ commands if they choose to.”

He turned his smoke grey eyes to Hermione, an uncharacteristic self-deprecating smile on his face that had her mouth falling open in surprise.

A self-deprecating Malfoy could only be an oxymoron. The two words just did not go together.

“In fact, one of the previous house elves employed at Malfoy Manor,” he continued, holding eye contact with her, “defied my father and found a way to free himself quite astonishingly. He also helped the Order win the war.”

Hermione’s breath stuttered at the mention of Dobby. She couldn’t believe that Draco Malfoy was actually praising the late elf his family had tormented to disobedience. But at the same time he made an excellent point. Why had Hermione not thought of this before?

“They’re not as subservient as you all would like to believe. The draft proposes a good approach to utilise that fact," he finished with a dismissive look on his arrogant features, as if there was nothing more to be said on the matter. 

Hermione almost smiled at his gall before he aimed that cavalier expression at her too, tacking on a caveat as he tossed the parchment on the table, “But it needs a lot more revisions before it can be workable in reality.” 

As if he had timed his words perfectly, the large clock above the door ticked 12 pm, signalling lunch time. Hermione waved her wand to arrange her papers in a tidy stack as others started to get up and collect their things to leave. 

Now was the time, she thought as she tamped her annoyance at him hijacking her meeting. Malfoy was already striding out of the room, so she hurried after him, leaving her bag and documents behind. 

“Malfoy wait!”

He halted at the doorway, so tall that his head almost touched the top of the door frame. He glanced back over his shoulders with an impatient look. 

“I need to speak to you," Hermione said. 

Turning around, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Then speak.”

She glanced back at the conference room. Too small and confining. After that night, she did not trust herself to be alone with him. 

“Not here. This is important. Can we go get lunch together?” she spoke hurriedly, not allowing herself to second judge her words or she knew she would get cold feet and never muster up the courage to do the right thing.

A brief flicker of surprise passed his face before his brows furrowed. “Is this about the draft? Can we reschedule this later? I have somewhere else to be.”

“No, it’s not," Hermione snapped. Why did he always act like he was doing her a favour by allowing her to speak to him? When he wasn’t busy ignoring her that is. 

He acted like their night together had never happened. Their interactions ever since had been limited to him giving her curt nods as they passed in the hallways. It was not like Hermione was itching to seek him out either but his usual frosty demeanour afterwards had stung. 

It shouldn’t have. Nothing had changed, not on the surface at least. She was glad to know they shared the sentiment that what had happened was a mistake and not something that needed to be brought up between them again.

Well that would have been the case if he hadn’t gone and knocked her up. Now she couldn’t help but bring it up again.

He searched her eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. At length, he said, “Fine. But I can’t stay long.”

With that he proceeded to lead the way to the lifts. Hermione jogged to catch up to him, inwardly cursing both his haughty disposition and long legs. 

She entered after Malfoy but the lunch crowd pushed her to stand behind him in the small space. As she huddled on one side to make room, she couldn’t help but notice the differences between them. His stature completely dwarfed hers. He was more than a head taller than her, even in her sensible black pumps. His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist and a firm behind. 

She could testify that everywhere else on him was firm and chiselled too, she’d run her fingers over as much of him as she could during their night together after all. 

Quite desperately too, Hermione recalled, blushing.

His expensive clothing was so perfectly tailored to him it was unfair. Today he wore a black turtleneck under a long charcoal grey suit jacket and matching trousers that moulded to his muscled legs like second skin. 

Hermione’s ogling was interrupted when the lift opened to the atrium and Malfoy stepped out, thankfully waiting till she stepped beside him this time. 

“To the cafeteria?” he asked but he had already started in the direction of the large mess hall. 

Hermione was surprised and it showed on her face. “I thought you would want to grab something outside.”

He lead them across the atrium, the crowd parting for him easily. “Why ever would you think that?”

She glanced up at him, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. “I don’t know, the Ministry cafeteria seems too plebeian for your tastes.”

A burst of surprised laughter escaped his lips. “You’re funny Granger.”

“I wasn’t joking," she muttered under her breath.

He heard her nonetheless. Looking down at her with amusement lighting up his grey eyes, he shared, “I come to the cafeteria often Granger. Most networking happens in large crowds over food.”

Of course. He lobbied for his family’s holdings which, as far as she knew, comprised of large acres of countryside land, large estates and holiday houses in Britain and other parts of Europe, a potions company, as well as countless investments in prominent wizarding businesses. Last she heard Malfoy had successfully acquired a percentage of equity in the Daily Prophet. A move that had made her worry for the already skewered journalistic integrity of the newspaper which influenced the perception of much of the British wizarding society. 

Although she had seen him in the cafeteria before, she couldn’t recall him actually eating the food served there. 

A high archway opened up to a large hall with hundreds of tables, the chatter of conversation and the tinkling of cutlery filling up the busy atmosphere. 

Thankfully, Malfoy snagged them a table in a relatively secluded corner, away from prying ears. Not that it mattered. Hermione cast a muffling charm as soon as they sat down. 

Their meal magically appeared before them. Steak and kidney pie with a charred crust, mashed potatoes with runny gravy, and a sad looking salad with questionable greens. 

Hermione’s stomach was still a little queasy, so she only took a little onto her plate. She pursed her lips to contain a laugh as Malfoy tentatively took some pie, eyeing the fare with worry. 

“You never actually eat the food here, do you?”

At her words he picked up his fork to take a bite of the pie, promptly choked and reached for a drink of water instead. 

“No, I don’t," he admitted after recovering from the pie which Hermione knew tasted like burnt rubber. 

Hermione giggled. “You get used to it after a while. Try the steak by itself, its not as bad as the crust.”

He gave her an indulgent look as she laughed at his expense. “I’ll pass.”

She made to goad him into eating but stopped when she saw a familiar figure in her peripheral vision. Turning her head, she was met with the smiling face of Theodore Nott a few tables down. 

He was sitting with his friend and business partner Blaise Zabini as they chatted with an unfamiliar man in brown robes. 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Theo.

Now there was a man who had truly turned himself around. 

He was the only Slytherin who had come back at the eleventh hour and fought on their side, despite his father being a death eater. A fact that had also saved him from any trial by extension after the war. 

Hermione clearly remembered her shocked face when he blocked a curse that had been aimed at her, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. At first she hadn’t believed her eyes, thinking polyjuice potion or something else was in play. But he’d kept fighting by her side till the end, cementing both a life debt and a friendship. 

Even now, when she’d ask him why he had come to their side and aided her, he’d make vague references to a guilty conscience and honour. As if he wasn’t a Slytherin. But she didn’t press him on it. Whatever his reasons, he’d done the right thing in the end and that was enough for her. 

Zabini pointed at Hermione and Theo turned to meet her eyes. His smile immediately widened and he gave her a two finger salute. When he noticed Malfoy sitting with her his smile turned into a smirk and he wiggled his brows at her. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, turning back to Malfoy. She stiffened. 

Malfoy had been watching her interact with his friend contemplatively, the index finger of his right hand tracing invisible patterns on the table top. 

He gave her an expectant look. “What did you want to talk about Granger?”

Her mouth dried immediately and she pushed away her plate. Her stomach was definitely going to protest if she ate anything now. 

“Uhm, yeah," she stalled, her heartbeat had skyrocketed all of a sudden. 

She futilely casted another muffling charm.

“Nobody can hear us Granger," he said, trying to soothe her visible show of nerves. “Tell me what has you so anxious.”

His tone was placating enough to put Hermione on the defensive. She snorted. “Don’t pretend to worry about me.”

In reality, she just wanted an excuse not to tell him. As she had suspected would happen, her courage was deserting her at the last minute. 

Hastily, she spoiled for a change of subject. “I know that all your help with HEPA comes with conditions attached. You’re not so altruistic as you try to come across Malfoy.”

She almost winced as he raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“What conditions are you talking about?” All gentleness had fled his voice. 

Hermione shrugged. “The same ones that you do all your other charity work for. I know it’s all a bid to better your reputation and appear the picture of innocence. I know you’re trying to get away from your past.”

“Aren’t we all?” Malfoy asked quietly. 

“You’re different. I don’t trust your intentions."

“So you keep telling me.” A sardonic smile pulled at his lips. “For all that you go on about my intentions, one would think it was someone else who testified in front of the Wizengamot for me.”

Inwardly, she flinched at the reminder. It was true. In their past interactions she had repeatedly let him know exactly what she thought of his underhanded ways to regain power. She hadn’t wanted to bring it up again, but her tongue refused to co-operate and say what she needed to confess.

“I was doing the right thing," she huffed, positively fidgeting with panic now. Why couldn’t she just say it? 

She opened her mouth and something other than what she intended slipped out again. “I could’t have known that you would try to turn the Ministry into your puppet.”

His expression shuttered, cold grey eyes held her deep brown ones. “You regret testifying for me then? Is that why you asked me to lunch? The important thing you wanted to tell me?”

_No! I would do it all over again!_

She wanted to yell, but remained silent, not trusting herself to speak again. 

His eyes narrowed in disdain at her silence, his mouth twisted in a sneer. 

And she knew she’d poked the dragon too much. 

“Tell me Granger, were you thinking about how much you hate me when you kissed me that night too? Were you thinking about how much you regret letting me go free as I fucked you—“ 

“I’m pregnant!” 

She didn’t know who was more shocked at her sudden shout, her or Malfoy. 

He had gone statue-still, his pale face looked like it had been carved from marble. His eyes were wide but unreadable. 

She hurriedly looked around, frantically searching if anyone else had heard her, but it looked like the muffling charm was working after all. 

Hermione’s heart was beating so fast she could hear blood rushing in her ears. 

He didn’t say anything for a long time, just looked at her unblinking. 

When the silence stretched into minutes, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. 

“It’s yours," she tacked on lamely. 

As if those words had breathed life into him, he took in a shuddering breath, clenching his hand into a fist at the top of the table. He wrenched his eyes away from her, gazing around dazedly as if he had forgotten where he was. 

When he finally looked back at her, expression blank and eyes cold again, Hermione knew her confession had made him drop his Occlumency walls and he’d been trying to rebuild them.

And maybe his walls failed him that day. 

Because the next second, before Hermione could have said anything else, he stood up and strode out of the cafeteria. 

~.~.~

When she arrived home that evening Ginny was waiting for her on her drawing room couch, lazily perusing the edition of Witch Weekly that had soured her mood that very morning. 

She made a mental note to cancel her subscription. 

Ginny gave Hermione a once over. "You look like someone hexed you six ways to Sunday."

Hermione tossed her briefcase on the coffee table haphazardly, exhaustion making her move sluggishly. “Thank you. That's exactly the look I was going for." 

Her red-headed friend got up just to pull Hermione down on the couch alongside her. Ginny worriedly catalogued her from head to toe as Hermione plopped her head back on the back of the couch. 

“What happened?"

Hermione sighed. She was conflicted whether she should tell Ginny or not. She trusted her friend implicitly, but she was also Ron's sister. It wasn't fair to ask her to prioritise Hermione. 

And when Ginny learned that she was pregnant with someone else's child, she would know that there was no hope for Ron and her. And when she told her Malfoy was the father…

She didn’t know how Ginny would react to that. She didn’t have the energy to take her chances right now. 

But maybe Hermione was giving her too little credit. 

"This is about my idiot brother, isn't it?" Ginny guessed, a scowl pulling her brows down. "He's such a prat. I told him I wanted to have you over to Grimmauld Place today and he and Harry needed to go somewhere else for their bi-weekly game of wizards’ chess but the git didn't listen to me."

Ginny huffed in annoyance. "So I had to come here, because I wasn't about to invite you over when he was there." 

Hermione's voice was small as she said, "I'm sorry Ginny."

Ginny was immediately indignant. “What? No! Why are you sorry? He's the one who needs to apologise to you for getting his knickers so twisted over a rejection that he felt the need to go snog that Greengrass girl just to get back at you." 

Hermione smiled faintly, pleasantly surprised to realise that she didn’t even feel a twinge of hurt when hearing about Ron’s betrayal anymore when a month ago she had been in constant distress over it. 

She truly had bigger things to deal with now. Namely one beautiful platinum blond wizard who had stared at her like she was the grim reaper after learning of his impending fatherhood. 

Hermione shook her head. “I think we both need to apologise and put this behind us. It's been three months since he proposed. I know Harry and you are fed up with us avoiding each other."

“Take as much time as you need Hermione—”

"I think I'm over it, Ginny.” Hermione cut her off, not wanting to hear platitudes today. She made sure her voice was steady with sincerity. “Truly over it."

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, uncertainly.

“We're not getting back together, me and Ron. So if that's what you were hoping would happen at the end of all this, I’m sorry to disappoint you.” 

"Hermione--"

“Even before he proposed, we were not really…” she halted, not knowing how to describe the chasm that had been steadily widening between her and Ron over the years. 

“We were drifting apart," she settled. “I spent long hours at the office and he was always busy with his auror duties. I think that's why he proposed too. A last ditch effort to salvage our relationship, to get it back to what it used to be. We hadn't even had sex in months--"

“Alright, no! Stop right there," Ginny squealed and wrinkled her nose. “I get the point.”

Hermione laughed but continued, “We're too different, Ginny. I think the war brought us closer than we were meant to be. Friendship should have been the only thing in the cards for us but we were both lonely and I don’t know. It just seemed inevitable then. Everyone expected us to be together, I think even we expected that it would happen at some point. So, it just happened.” 

Hermione was relieved to note an understanding expression dawn on Ginny’s face. Maybe the events of the day hadn’t completely scrambled her mind if she was able to clearly communicate her feelings.

“Does my brother share these sentiments?” her friend asked lowly. 

"I think so." Hermione rubbed her temples. “God, I hope so.”

Ginny gave her a warm smile and pulled her into a tight hug. 

"I will support you no matter what you decide to do, Hermione. I may be Ron's sister, but I'm your friend too."

Her hushed words were reassuring.

~°~°~

After Ginny left, Hermione half-heartedly made herself some dinner. She sat down on her dining table to peruse some work files and eat her food at the same time but the chicken tasted bland on her tongue so she gave up after a few bites. 

She wasn’t really hungry anyway. She hadn’t eaten anything since Malfoy had spectacularly crushed her pride and made her look like a gaping fool that afternoon. She’d sat at the table for a good few minutes just processing his reaction when Theo had nudged her out of her inner turmoil. 

She hadn’t offered Theo any explanation, just made some half-baked excuse to rush out of the mess hall as well. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening firmly shut in her office, stewing in her bubbling, conflicted emotions.

On the one hand she hadn’t expected him to have a good reaction to the news in the first place, but on the other she also hadn’t expected him to have no reaction to it whatsoever as well.

Although him leaving the cafeteria like a bat out of hell had told her all she needed to know. 

When the words on the page she’d been absently staring at for the past five minutes started to blur she put the book down with a sigh. Rubbing her tired eyes, she made her mind to turn in early for the night or thoughts of Malfoy were going to torment her till she went barmy. 

A soft tapping on the window in her drawing room made her look up. She stood and walked to the other room, her eyes widening at what decidedly looked like an owl outside the windowpane.

She hadn’t been expecting anything. 

Opening the window she stood back as the large, tufted eagle owl swooped inside, flying in a low circle before coming to perch atop Hermione’s coffee table. 

Hermione recognised the owl from Hogwarts. When it used to swoop in to the Great Hall to drop sweets and chocolates in the lap of the blond wizard who had been the centre of her despairing thoughts all day. 

Hermione took the letter the haughty looking bird had dropped on her table. She opened it with her heart almost in her throat. 

Malfoy’s handwriting was as elegant as him.

_Granger,_

_I apologise for how I left this afternoon._

_Can we please meet at the new tea shop on Diagon Alley at 8 tomorrow morning?_

_Malfoy._

Succinct. Very formal. 

Hermione almost snorted. What else had she been expecting? But at least he wasn’t completely leaving her hanging, maybe there was hope yet. She didn’t even know why she wanted to meet him again. She’d promised herself she would tell him about her pregnancy and she had done so. There was nothing left to say between them anymore. All she cared about was him knowing and now he did. 

Therefore, she had no idea why she picked up her quill to write an equally succinct acceptance at the back of the letter. 

She approached the eagle owl, extending her fingers to softly run them down its downy back. It squawked and flew backwards, snapping at Hermione’s fingers with its beak indignantly. When she tried to offer the owl a piece of chicken Hermione thought it looked at her down its beak in a decidedly condescending manner, its amber eyes full of judgement. 

She gave up, glancing down at the letter. There was a post script she hadn’t noticed before. 

_P.S. Don’t try to give Merlin any treats. He refuses to eat anything that doesn’t come from the Manor’s kitchens._

Hermione snorted at the owl’s name and disposition. Of course Malfoy would have a picky prick of an owl. She was reminded of how he himself had choked on the cafeteria food. How apt. 

She gave Merlin the letter and watched him fly out into the night with a faint tinkling of anticipation for the next morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: siIverstrands
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> Reviews keep me writing :)


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